


let's rock and roll baby

by lastwingedthing



Category: Hellcats
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marti never imagined her life would end up like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's rock and roll baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somnolentblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnolentblue/gifts).



> Written as a yuletide treat; I saw this prompt and just couldn't resist. Hope you like it!

Marti finally gets her break a little after three, when the asshole for the defence makes a crack in front of the whole court about football groupies. Everybody knows cheerleading isn’t a sport; what could it matter if one teenager can’t wave pom poms around in a short skirt for the benefit of the football team? Roberts had the right idea, her parents should be grateful.

The chief witness has been close to tears for the past twenty minutes and this looks like it’s about to send her over the edge, but Marti just shakes her head to herself. Stanton's all but admitted that Roberts threatened the girl's place on the team, and if all he has left to resort to is cheap jokes, then all Marti has to do is wait.

When she finally gets to speak again she takes her time about it, asking Miss Turner question after question – how long she spends in practice each week, what kind of injuries she’s received and played through, what kind of stunts her team has pulled off lately, exactly what a flyer’s role entails. Making sure everyone else is aware, in very simple words, just how fucking hard a cheerleader’s job can be.

(Savannah echoes in her mind with every word, and inwardly Marti smiles, grateful, thankful, for the friend she’d never dreamed she could have.)

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says carefully, “Miss Turner is an athlete. She is dedicated, talented, and committed to her team. In the future, her cheerleading may provide her with a way into college, and from there provide a stepping-stone into a brighter future. Certainly the skills she is displaying right now are far from ordinary, or simple.  

“For a man like George Roberts, who has such influence over her life and her future, to use that influence in order to pressure her family, is deplorable. For Miss Turner, cheerleading is not a hobby, and it is not easy. To lose the opportunity to compete with her teammates would be a major blow for her.

“But if you still disagree about the competitiveness of the sport, Mr Stanton,” Marti says, turning now to face her opponent, “If you still think that Roberts’ threats to remove Miss Turner from the cheerleading team were not malicious in intent, then please, feel free to demonstrate how simple it really is. Perhaps a backflip or two for the court? After all, if any teenager with a pom pom can do it, why can’t you?”

About that point is when half the jury starts laughing, and Marti has to restrain herself from punching the air. The case sure as hell isn’t over yet, but if the jury can accept Sarah Turner’s evidence, they’re more than halfway there.

Marti doesn’t get to leave for home until well after ten, but it’s still enough excuse for Lady Gaga all the way home. Marti’s s dancing as soon as she gets inside her building, headbanging all the way up three flights of stairs to her apartment door.

Alice is stretched out on the sofa with her feet up and her iphone pressed against her ear. As Marti comes through the door, her Poker Face dance ending with a slide down to her knees, Alice turns to stare at her. Disdain is written all over her face, but Marti just grins through it.

“Shut up, you love it. You only _wish_ you had moves like me.”

Alice rolls her eyes. She’s wearing a three-hundred-dollar silk shirt and a pair of ratty old sweatpants, with fuzzy purple elephant slippers jammed on her feet. Her blazer is hanging on the back of a chair across the room.

“What the fuck, Alice, those are my sweats.” Marti’s not really angry, just irritated. She’s pretty sure they’re the last clean pair either of them own, and she’s been ready to get out of her tight skirt for hours.

Pants-free it is, then. June is definitely warm enough for it.

Over on the sofa, Alice rolls her eyes again. She’s still chatting away on the phone – probably to a particularly moronic client, from the syrupy tone in her voice – but she lifts her hand and flaps it open and closed at Marti like a mouth, the universal symbol for bitch, bitch, bitch.

Alice covers the phone with her hand for a second.

“I got you dinner, Marti. Stop fucking whinging, god.” Then it’s back on the phone again, something about a color scheme disaster from the sound of it. Marti really isn’t concentrating; not even the second-hand satisfaction of listening to Alice take someone down in full passive-aggressive bitch mode is worth paying attention to an argument about the merits of peach shades over apricot.

Especially since she hasn’t eaten in hours. And true to Alice’s word, there’s a scattering of takeout containers across the kitchen counter. Thai, from the smell. Marti grabs one and digs in, smiling: it’s still warm.

“Forgiven,” Marti says instantly, indistinctly, talking through her mouthful. “Might even put out tonight, if you’re lucky.”

Alice snorts. She’s hung up, finally; peach has won the day at last.

“Yeah, Marti. I love a classy lay like you. You’re just like some little white trash girl who never learnt her manners – oh, wait!”

Still chewing, Marti sticks up her middle finger and rotates it. Alice just laughs.

Ten minutes later, Marti drops down on the sofa beside her.

“God, I’m awesome. We can’t know for sure yet, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ve finally got the jury onside. Stanton’s a total dickface, and so’s his client. Can’t fucking wait til the verdict comes and I get to see their faces.”

“Marti, you keep talking to me like I actually care. It’s so adorable,” Alice says, bitchy-sweet, but when Marti moves her feet into Alice’s lap she sighs and starts to rub. Marti groans in pleasure and relief.

“Oh man, _yeah_ , that’s so good. I owe you.”

“Yeah, you really do. Are you gonna fall asleep between my legs again, Marti?”

“Fuck you, that only happened once. I’m gonna deliver this time, I promise.”

“You’d better.” Alice digs her fingers into the spot under her toes, and Marti throws back her head and moans out loud.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, Alice, god. That’s even better than sex, I swear.”

“Can I have that in writing?” Alice says laughing, and kisses her rough and sweet.

It’s an odd thing they have between them, but it works. Back in college Marti might have fantasised about making things work out with Lewis, settling down in Sapphic bliss with Savannah, meeting some hot brilliant New Yorker with a thing for Southern girls, or maybe even getting together with Dan somehow. Her infrequent, explosively hot hookups with Alice were just a thing – a breakup thing, a post-victory celebration thing, a bored-and-drunk-and-horny thing. Each time was meant to be the last. And if they hadn’t both ended up in this city together, it really would have ended there, with that last hooray the night before they finally left Cheertown for good. They’d both of them been a little drunk, maudlin and sentimental, when they snuck into the gym to fuck half-clothed and breathless on a pile of mats; but afterwards they hadn’t even kissed goodbye.

But then Alice, and later Marti, had moved to New York City, and in the eternal struggle to find a clean and sane roommate who tolerated her long hours and wouldn’t drive Marti to justifiable homicide, she’d ended up going to Alice and suggesting they share living space with each other again. Alice’s long irregular hours at the magazine meshed just fine with Marti’s lawyer schedule; they already knew they could live together without too much drama. Bickering and blackmail and elaborate revenge plots did happen, yeah, but they were already old hands at playing those games with each other. It kept, keeps, life exciting. Marti’s still more than happy to trade laundry and oral sex for footrubs and pegging and dinner.

Forty minutes later Marti’s writhing on her back on her bed, Alice’s mouth on her left nipple and Alice’s long fingers stroking firm and sure up inside her. She can still taste Alice on her tongue.

They’ll pass out here together in ten minutes or so, naked and tangled on Marti’s bed. Wake up five hours later, fight over the shower, race out the door in time to grab a grande-sized coffee before the train. Marti’s gonna kick ass in the courtroom, and Alice is gonna boss everyone in her department around all day until they somehow come up with something perfect and astonishing to send to press – and if it’s a good day, she’ll probably make some hapless intern cry in the process. And tomorrow night they’ll do all of this all over again.

It wasn’t what Marti planned for or even imagined, back when she was in college. She’d never in a million years dreamed that her perfect lawyer life would be spent with Alice.

Her college self was pretty stupid. It doesn’t get any better than this.


End file.
